Change of Hearts
by Yoshiherder
Summary: Dr. Henry McCoy finds companionship can be found in even the most unexpected of places. What the hell... no "Beast" character category . Collaboration w/ agentwhite. Original idea was his, writing is mine. Characters are copyrighted by Marvel.
1. Chapter 1

**Change of Hearts – Chapter One - Reconciliation**

The scene could best be described as a symphony. A plethora of flasks steamed away in pulchritudinous harmony, each emitting its own scents and colors. A centrifuge added the melody with its whirring song. Several titrations dripped dutifully away, working industriously towards the expected color change. An intricate clock near the door kept time, acting as percussion to the impromptu concert in the laboratory, determined to keep everyone in cadence. If these devices were the musicians of the concert, then the gargantuan figure of cerulean fur and muscles garbed in a lab coat was surely the conductor. He deftly maneuvered about the lab, storing flasks, mixing new solutions, shaking titrations, and fine-tuning the steaming flasks, never missing a beat. He was the master of the scientific domain, a living contradiction, the paradoxical and brilliant Dr. Henry McCoy.

Hank hummed contently as he massed out the requisite magnesium, peering at the scale through his distinctive circular spectacles. He carefully swept the metal into his massive yet gentle paw and carried over to the lab bench. Taking a piece of the material in his tongs, he held it in the blue flame of a nearby Bunsen burner and watched it ignite, giving off a brilliant hoary glow. _Excellent_, the azure giant concluded. _This will be a big hit for Monday's chemistry lesson with the X-kids. _ As Dr. McCoy packed the rest of the magnesium to his storage cabinet, he paused at his centrifuge. Its spinning tune was almost hypnotic. Henry watched its progress, temporarily enthralled. The centrifuge span still faster, like a rampaging tempest. Its violence became alarming, and suddenly Beast was recalling the terrifying images of that morning's mission which had admitted yet another person into the commodious halls of the X-mansion. The mission had been a complete success; innocents were protected, and property damage was kept minimal. _A rare blessing with this impulsive team_, Hank mused within his memory. It had turned out the target they were assigned to protect had been capable of defending herself; the enemy was defeated without a single twister from Storm or ace of spades from Gambit, to both of their great distress. As suddenly as the memory had cropped up, the titration adjacent to the centrifuge morphed from its former magenta to a pleasing navy, and Beast quickly shut off the drip. He glanced to his treasured grandfather clock, vaguely aware that he needed to watch the time.

"7:25?! My stars and garters! The appointment is for 7:30!" Hank blurted. With the lithe grace he had been demonstrating, Beast made the rounds, turning off his Bunsen burners, storing extra supplies, and switching off his titration drips. The conductor had called a fermata in the concerto before the intermission; the centrifuge furiously finished its work and its tune as Dr. McCoy tended to the other lab devices. Beast cleared his couch, reverently stacking several poetry anthologies with their scientific counterparts. Quickly whipping a paper exam table cover out of his massive storage closet, Beast draped the table and then again braved the abyssal closet to fish for his diagnostic equipment. Beast emerged soon thereafter slightly ruffled, but triumphantly carrying his gear. Placing his otoscope, tongue depressor, stethoscope, thermometer, and other effects on his instrument cart, Hank moved to collect his notepad and Rorschach cards, as well as his favorite mauve pen. Hank seated himself upon his favorite navy wheeled chair, gave it a gleeful spin of greeting, and stopped to stare at the clock and the doorway, eagerly anticipating his patient.

Hank's alert reverie was to be short-lived. His patient arrived punctually. The large figure entered with a snarling sigh. Beast opened a drawer at the foot of the exam table and rifled through it, finally crying out triumphantly. He tossed a gaudy pink hospital gown on the exam table. This choice was meant with a disgusted snort.

"I ain't puttin' that sissy dress on," the patient protested. Beast fixed his subject with a slight disapproving glance from behind his glasses. The patient took a deep breath, then finally rumbled "Alright, but do you have anything in yellow?" Beast replaced the pink gown and began excavating. A new robe was produced, this one a soft blue with yellow spots. The patient regarded it with slight disdain, but accepted it when Hank pressed it into his arms. Looking around, the patient seemed to sulk. "McCoy, I need someplace to-" Hank pointed to his voluminous storage closet. The patient ambled over, albeit reluctantly, and emerged a minute later, clad in the gown. "I'm gonna regret this, ain't I, McCoy?" the patient inquired.

"Good sir, I assure you, a more professional doctor cannot be found," came Beast's rejoinder. The patient climbed onto the examination table, his significant bulk causing creaks. Hank wasted no time, sliding his instrument cart and his prized chair to the table. "Say aaah…" he prompted.

"Aaah de freakin' daaaah," retorted the patient. Beast could not help but crack a smile. He removed his tongue depressor and unceremoniously jammed his thermometer into his patient's maw. Hank began muttering observations.

"Throat is in typical healthy color range, no signs of –" The patient chose that moment to register his displeasure at the sudden introduction of the thermometer.

"Oi, what's all this? Professional my a-"

"Good sir, I urge you to consider where else I could have chosen to place that thermometer and BE QUIET," Beast scolded.

The patient silenced himself and made no motions or sounds as Beast took his pulse and blood pressure and examined his pupil dilation. However, as the otoscope was slid into his right ear, he cracked a rare smile of his own.

"What is it?" Dr. McCoy probed.

"Feels nice, kinda soothing…" the patient rumbled in reply.

Hank could not help but reciprocate the grin as he moved to the other ear.

"All looks to be in superb shape so far, good sir," Hank began "but there are a few points left to examine, and unfortunately, they are by far the least pleasant." Dr. McCoy punctuated his statement by donning gloves. "The next area on the list is the genitalia."

The patient's eyes widened in confusion until Beast assisted him by indicating the region in question. The patient sighed in a resigned manner. "Don't enjoy this too much, McCoy," he cautioned. He slowly slid his gown up to his navel. Hank was true to his word, and quickly went to work examining the area. The patient averted his eyes as he held his gown up so Beast could work. Beast was a true professional; the patient's sizable endowment caused him no pause.

"Cough, please," he instructed.

The patient cooperated, eager to restore his modesty. The cough was more a hack, perhaps the patient expressing his opinion of the procedure. Beast helped him slide his gown back into place when he finished.

"Only one thing left: prostate exam," Dr. McCoy informed, unflustered.

The patient's countenance again moved to consternation as Beast helped him to his feet.

"The wha?" he asked, confused. Beast clued him in by spinning his pointer finger, indicating the patient should turn around. "Oh!" the patient cried, understanding. "About that… can we wait? I ain't ready fer that," he muttered, embarrassed.

"I assure you the procedure completely routine and will be conducted with absolute discrimination," Hank reassured, "but if your wish is to wait, I am at peace with your decision."

Relief washed across the patient's features as he did two unexpected things. He snatched Beast's hand in a manner almost that of a kleptomaniac and he said something he was never recorded as having said before.

"Thank you," he managed to squeeze out in a low growl.

"It wasn't so bad, wasn't it, Mr. Creed?" Beast teased.

"It ain't you;" Victor began, "the last time 'docs' were fiddlin' with me, it didn't turn out so well."

Hank, a master of composure, was still taken aback by Victor's candid confession. However, he recovered quickly and led Victor to the couch.

"Awww crud," complained Sabretooth, "this ain't gonna be one of those 'my childhood was terrible and mummy didn't love me enough' things, is it?"

"No, I'd conclude that you're not prepared to share such information. This session is purely preliminary," Beast explained as he picked up his notepad, beloved pen, and Rorschach cards.

"I need you to answer honestly and know I cannot share anything said with anyone at any time," Hank dutifully informed. "Are you experiencing ANY psychological symptoms, such as depression or extreme anger?"

Victor paused thoughtfully, and then replied. "No. Fer once, I don't feel angry. I ain't in the mood ta kill nuthin'. I know it's hard ta swallow…"

Beast chewed thoughtfully on his worn pen. "Not at all, Victor. We expected changes. This is excellent news." Hank began scribbling away on his notepad, muttering things such as "favorable report" and "more progress than hoped." Once Hank finished his frenzied notation, he picked up his stack of ink-blot cards and showed the first to Victor. "Tell me what you see, please," he commanded.

"I see a pretty freakin' butterfly!"

Victor emerged from the storage closet, back in his clothes, aglow with confidence and what could tentatively be described as joy. Hank met him by the doorway. Victor extended his hand, which Hank readily accepted.

"Ya don't know what yer kindness means," Victor stated, feeling a little awkward. He had not formerly been known for grandiose or gracious speeches. "Everyone else just stares at me and I feel so alone… Had they been my doctor, they would have gone out of their way to humiliate me."

Beast managed to peel his paw out of Victor's fierce hold. "Sleep well… friend," he intoned, smiling.

Beast watched Victor saunter off to his room, and in spite of years of enmity and the knowledge that he should loathe the man, Beast found himself looking forward to seeing him again and already missing his company. However, Hank, imbued with great brilliance, was already formulating a plan. A mischievous smile sprang unbidden to his soft, fuzzy face as he schemed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Change of Hearts – Chapter Two**

**Into the Fold / Newton's First Law**

Rarely did Victor find himself in a good mood, but the present was one of those occasions. Victor had received a mental call from the Professor, then Jean, both of whom urged him to come to the Professor's office immediately. His reaction had been one of great excitement, for why else would the Professor require his presence than to confirm his status as an X-man? However, Victor's high spirits were dampened as he approached the Professor's office. Sounds of bickering from within resonated through the nearby halls, and Victor could isolate and identify the loudest voices involved. A slight wave of dread washed over him, and he uncharacteristically shivered. He approached the doorknob to the study, his massive hand enveloping it, and he thought back to what could have happened to shift events as they were occurring…

The brilliant dawn erupted through the windows, making its daily trek, spreading its light slowly along the comforter of Victor's bed until it reached his eyes. The focused auburn glow proved too much, and Victor awoke grumpily, rolling onto his stomach and putting a pillow over his head. For all his displeasure at his failure to close his blinds the night before, Victor still felt quite content overall. He had not slept so soundly in over a score of years. His night had been dreamless, unless you counted seeing colors, for he had seen not black when he closed his eyes, but cerulean. The king-size bed dominated his otherwise spartan quarters, and despite his considerable girth, it had provided comfort he had not felt for longer than he cared to remember.

He stretched luxuriously, yawning raucously and rolling towards the bed's edge. Sliding out of the downy sheets, the morning chill greeted him. One of the few furnishings in the room, a dresser bearing a mirror, awaited his lumbering gait. The reflection met his gaze, their eyes all the same hue as the brilliant sunrise. Clad in true minimalist fashion, Victor wore only his favorite pair of white boxers. Gazing at his reflection, Victor gave himself the go-around, inspecting himself. His gargantuan physique strained the dimensions of the mirror as he slowly turned. A light dusting of hair decorated his back, and his boxers were quite well-filled. Victor continued the spin until he was again facing his reflection. His six-pack and massive pectorals trembled as Victor struck a pose and flexed, looking quite pleased with himself. His entire thorax and abdomen were coated in an impressive layer of the same blond hair that also formed a treasure trail. Noticing the extensive coverage of hair, Victor also gave his long locks a flip, admiring them as they fanned out. There is a type of man who is so aware of his own aesthetic appeal that he finds himself attractive, and Victor was just that sort. Satisfied with his inspection, Victor slid open several drawers and extracted an outfit – a well-worn pair of jeans, which he also filled nicely, an undershirt, and a molten orange button-up shirt. Victor ducked out the door and headed downstairs to breakfast.

As Victor crossed the threshold into the kitchen, a flurry of activity met his perception. Storm was blending smoothies in midair with a micro-twister while Jean and Cyclops had a mock staring contest over the last piece of stuffed French toast. Victor approached the stove, where Gambit stood, wearing his chef's hat. Gambit had a muffin tin, but instead of placing it in the oven, Gambit channeled his powers through the tin, and the muffins quickly rose, pleasantly steaming, and were ready. Remy looked up to Victor, who was beaming at his skilled baking.

"Your order, monsieur?" Gambit asked with a teasing and excessively showy bow.

"I've always been a meat guy… steak and eggs?" Victor answered tentatively.

Gambit motioned to an empty chair at the table as he cracked open the fridge and raided it for the supplies needed. Victor moved to the seat indicated. Victor's heart nearly doubled its tempo as he saw his table-neighbor. He plunked down happily next to Hank, who was enjoying a beastly tankard of tea and a large cinnamon roll. Hank looked up at the racket as Victor seated himself, smiled warmly, and went back to his crossword. Victor unconsciously placed his hand on the table as he watched Hank scribble furiously, enthralled. Suddenly, a sharp chill ran through his hand, and Victor found himself unable to remove his hand from the table. It had been bonded to the table by ice! Robert Drake met Victor's confused gaze with a nasty smirk and was preparing to spread the ice further when a cinnamon-coated projectile was launched across the table and ended up adorning Bobby's forehead.

"Oh, goodness!" Hank quickly apologized. "Sometimes I don't know my own strength." He chuckled gently, a pleasing tenor, and pointedly returned to his crossword.

A strong breeze caused him to trap his newspaper under his hand as his gorgeous fuzz rippled. The breeze deposited a glass in front of Victor, and a softer following wind carried a serving of smoothie into the glass. Victor looked up to see Ororo Monroe, who, with her typical grace, disposed of the banana peels and strawberry tops. She seemed to feel his eyes, and met his glance, echoing Beast's smile. Victor's reverie was interrupted by a terrific smell and a clatter as Gambit placed a platter worthy of Victor's size nearby. Remy stared at Victor's still icy hand and snatched it. Victor felt pleasant warmth as Gambit pulsed revitalizing energy through the appendage. Remy was muttering darkly.

"Little punk… I'll blow up his _Playboy_s…" Gambit cracked a grin at Victor and slid the plate in front of him. "Bon appétit, mon ami." Remy sauntered off, possibly to carry out his threat. Victor watched him strut off and then returned his attention to the monstrously apportioned slab of meat and sunny-side-up eggs he'd requested. He tore in ravenously, his inner carnivore rejoicing. A light touch on his thigh interrupted his feasting. Turning, he saw Beast politely handing him a napkin. Victor met Beast's gentle eyes and his own widened, causing another chuckle from the jolly fuzzball. Sheepishly accepting the napkin, admonished, he finished eating in a more civilized manner.

Victor was elated about what was to follow breakfast – it was to be his first training session. Better yet, one of the X-men had volunteered to train with him and show him the Danger Room. Victor spent his walk down to the Danger Room pondering who would dare volunteer to be with him, as he felt he hadn't proven himself trustworthy yet. Victor's musings were interrupted when he reached his destination and beheld the massive doors of the Danger Room. The doors slid open and Victor warily stepped in.

"Bonjour, mon ami," came the Cajun drawl.

It wasn't who Victor had hoped for, but he was not disappointed, either. Remy had been quite pleasant to him thus far.

"So, Gambit, what trainin' are we doin'?" Victor inquired, eager to begin.

"Well, we're gonna do some evasion trainin'," Remy replied. Victor continued gazing at him, clearly expecting further explanation. Gambit obliged by yanking several decks out of one of his clandestine pockets. Victor groaned in dismay, but Remy hadn't finished yet: "An' you gotta wear dis." Gambit handed Victor a thick headband. Victor donned the headband, unsure of its purpose, until Gambit yanked it down around his eyes and tightened it. "You gotta use yo other senses, mon ami." Victor rumbled worriedly. "Don't you worry none – Gambit only kick yo ass a lil." Victor couldn't help but grin.

Remy began slowly, tossing a lightly charged card to Victor's right. Victor detected the motion, but didn't move in time. The blast knocked him on his rump. Gambit chuckled lightly, but waited for Victor to take his stance again. Gambit tossed another card, and this time Victor deftly moved out of the explosion's range. A golf clap greeted his success, and Remy picked up the pace slightly.

Victor was feeling rather exuberant. He had only been knocked over three times, and he could tell Gambit was impressed as well. Remy dug into his trench coat, but came up with empty hands.

"Sorry, mon ami. I'm down to mah last deck. Gotta save it," he explained.

Victor nodded sagely. "I'd like ta try out the Danger Room. Will ya start a simple program fer me?" Victor requested.

"Sure thing… Victor," Remy responded blithely. He exited the Danger Room and began the laborious trip to its control room.

Without warning, the Danger Room's lights flickered, and the mechanical wonder quickly became a metal monstrosity. Massive metal tentacles with various appendages, including razor-sharp pincers, drills, and scythes, sprang from hidden compartments all over the room. Cannons were lowered from the ceiling, and huge sharpened fans rose from the floor. Victor felt his hairs standing on end.

"Errr… Gambit? I'm flattered, but maybe a lower level?" Victor called out plaintively towards the control platform.

"Don't die…. bub," came the unexpected reply, followed by a nasty laugh.

Victor swore under his breath as the Danger Room's sensors picked him up and the death-machines converged on him.

To his credit, Victor nimbly dodged many metallic arms, and was doing fairly well avoiding the giant metal fans and the lasers bombarding him from the ceiling. However, the fans suddenly switched the direction of rotation around the room, and they also sped up. Victor's eyes widened in horror as a fan that he had just evaded came back for him with a vengeance, leaving him no path to safety. Victor braced himself for a grisly end when lithe arms grabbed his shoulders and pulled him skyward. Looking up, Victor beheld first a silvery cloak, then beautiful white hair.

Storm gently set him down right outside the Danger Room as it reverted to its dormant state. Already, Victor could hear Remy berating Wolverine. As Victor turned to thank Ororo, he found himself speaking to empty air – she too had flown to the control platform, and her furious voice soon joined Gambit's. Victor caught snatches, such as "How could you? I've never seen you do anything this reckless and hateful before!" and "You backstabbin' lowlife… what do you were you thinkin'?!"

As the angry verbal fencing intensified, Rogue touched down next to Victor.

"What's all the racket?" she wondered aloud, her voice that of a Southern belle's. She quickly identified the source, and after hearing a few lines, decided it was best to move Victor elsewhere.

"Come on, sugar. Let's get you some lemonade," she said, taking Victor's arm in an almost motherly way. Rogue led Victor towards the kitchen, and the big guy followed, allowing her to hold his arm in his stunned stupor. Unfortunately, the only route to the kitchen led right past the Danger Room control area, and as Rogue approached, the door burst open, and the furious exchange was again audible.

"I thought he could handle the challenge!" Wolverine called back grumpily as he stormed out of the room. He paused as he spied Victor, then smirked and added "I guess I was wrong."

Victor felt his muscles tense; Wolverine had not been testing him. He had intended to maim or terminate Victor. Victor shot Logan a fierce glare, intense enough to melt steel, which the little man met unflinchingly. Victor then felt Rogue's hand on his shoulder, proving her intent as she joined the glare battle. Wolverine snorted derisively and mockingly said "Whatever," as he walked smugly away.

Victor relaxed slightly, and, feeling Rogue's hand still on his shoulder, attempted to draw attention away from the confrontation.

"So… lemonade?"

That earned a giggle from Rogue. Victor countenance erupted in a grin. Rogue had a pleasant melodious laugh.

Rogue turned out to be quite the agreeable companion. She regaled Victor with stories of her ancestors, her adventures with Magneto, and even a little about her current love, Remy. Victor listened attentively, both pleased with the company and appreciative of the anecdotes. Rogue seemed to understand that Victor was not ready to open up, for she asked no personal questions, instead fussing over how little sugar he put in his lemonade. When Rogue was halfway through the story of her great grandfather, a Confederacy general, she suddenly stiffened.

"You go on and drink as much as you like, sugar," she began, getting up. "Just clean up when you're done." Without so much as a goodbye, Rogue power-walked towards the Professor's office. Victor watched her leave with a mixture of curiosity and sadness. Stories of the grand ages past were much preferable to the constant violence he was accustomed to. He spied Beast's paper and pulled it towards himself. The crossword was flawlessly finished, likely in record time, but Victor noticed the soduku was still incomplete. Victor appropriated a pen from the tablet on the refrigerator and began.

The soduku was defeated and Victor was well into the word-shape game when he heard the Professor's voice telepathically.

"Victor, please report to my office. We've a matter of great importance to discuss."

Another mental voice added "Please hurry, Victor!" its urgency contrasting with its soft and gentle tone.

Victor pocketed the word puzzle and headed for the Professor's office, wondering what the urgent matter could possibly be. There was only one logical conclusion! He was about to be named an X-man! Victor walked with a significant spring in his step, convinced he had it made.

As the office's proximity increased, a low roar was heard. It grew as its distance shrank. Victor began to worry; the roar was yet another war of words and, judging by the volume, almost all of the X-men were sparring. Victor's hand approached the doorknob of the office, and the present came flooding back.

To his great chagrin, Victor's hand trembled as it wrapped around the doorknob and twisted. The scene that awaited him was not at all pleasant. Nearly the entire team was lining different walls of the study, several shouting at a time; angry expressions were universal. Judging by the worn look the Professor wore and the way he was massaging his temples, the dueling had been bitter and largely fruitless. Victor remained in the doorway, afraid to even venture into the study. Jean beckoned and he reluctantly sidled to the desk, almost wishing he could hide behind the much smaller Jean or Professor.

On the west wall stood Wolverine, Cyclops, and Iceman, all eyeing him with clear disgust and anger. On the east wall were Storm, Rogue, and Gambit. Beast was also on the east side, but he was contently seated in a well-stuffed leather chair. Along the south wall stood Colossus, Kitty Pryde, and Nightcrawler, all observing the exchanges with mixed dismay and interest.

Victor met the eyes of his loathed adversary, and though Wolverine's bloodthirsty countenance would intimidate many, Victor persisted. Cyclops continued the argument.

"He's been our sworn enemy for longer than I can remember! HE WORKS FOR MAGNETO! He's here to sabotage us. There's no way he's changed! We can't be sure how much that empath we saved messed up his mind, but we can be sure of his track record!" Cyclops ranted, punctuating each statement with a point towards Victor that was so emphatic that Victor could almost feel the finger piercing his chest.

"Don't ya'll forget. I was once your sworn enemy, too. I cleaned up my act, and I've saved your sorry heinie more times than you can remember, as well! I did it, and he can!" Rogue was quick to defend that which she empathized with. Cyclops would not buy into her logic, however.

"Just like you, Rogue… naively optimistic… believing the best about ANYONE. It's clear that your case was different. You've proven your value to the team many times since leaving the Brotherhood. He never will. He's a killer!"

The next interceding voice bore a thick Cajun accent. "How's he gonna prove he's worth our trust if'n you won't let him try? I also done some things I ain't proud of, but here I am. He trusted me enough to lemme throw mah cards at him while he was blindfolded… don't we hafta at least give him some trust?" Again, Cyclops was unimpressed.

"I still don't completely trust YOU, Remy. You don't help Sabretooth's case by presenting your own example."

Finally, the gentle and soothing voice of Hank resonated about the room. "Scott, surely you realize your ad hominem arguments do nothing but hurt your friends. Stay within the bounds of this case. Why can we not trust Victor? He's passed psychiatric examination and shown incredible restraint despite the lack thereof on the part of a few others," Beast sagely noted, pointedly sending glances at Bobby and Logan. Henry imbibed another long draught of his peppermint tea before motioning for Scott to continue.

"Are you mad, Hank?" Scott demanded, drawing a disapproving head-shake from Beast. "He's tried to kill us all, countless times! There's nothing he can do to make me trust him!"

Wolverine finally broke his silent stare at Victor by adding his voice to Cyclops' case. "That's jus' the thing. We can never trust him. He's taken advantage of our faith before, and I don't intend to ever let that scum-sucking psychopath fight at my side. I say we gut him here and now." His heartfelt sentiment was met with an annoyed sigh from Storm.

"You forget, Logan… when we decided to let you stay at the mansion, many of us felt you couldn't be trusted. You also had a past that certainly did not bring you honor, and you were feral; barely in control if at all. Still, despite the fact that you seemed more dangerous than Victor does, you were allowed to stay. You were given many chances to prove yourself, and you did. If Victor can be half the teammate you are, shouldn't he be given a chance?" Wolverine had started grimacing partway through Storm's statement, and by the end, despite Storm's graceful compliment, he was seething.

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY COMPARING ME TO THAT MONSTER, LADY?!" he demanded, punctuating by popping his claws. Wolverine was now giving Ororo the death-glare, and look quite determined to draw blood. Storm was undaunted, completely nonchalant. Her response was far more intimidating than Logan's claw-pop, however. A fierce wind erupted in the office, creating a veritable typhoon of papers. Thunder roared from outside, and lightning flowed from Storm's eyes.

"Have you forgotten what a remarkable conductor adamantium is, Wolverine? Have you forgotten what became of you the last time you threatened me? Perhaps you must relearn why they call me Storm."

Rogue grabbed Storm's arm and soothingly said, "Now sugar, that ol' grouch ain't worth messing up the Professor's study, is he?" The winds died down and Storm relaxed. Wolverine, however, was still furious. He was halfway across the office when his feet left the ground. Jean scolded him.

"So, you see fit to prove their point by losing control and harming your friends?"

Wolverine howled in frustration and became spewing obscenities that would make Juggernaut blush. Beast and Gambit exchanged knowing looks, and both headed for the Professor's desk. Hank held out his huge, soft paw, and Victor accepted it. Hank led him out of the office and Remy watched his back. Gambit pulled the door shut with his staff, demonstrating an almost impish delight. He turned to Victor.

"Don't you be listenin' to dat bellyachin' lil' man. We gotta get you away from that gator."

Beast leaned towards Remy's ear and furiously whispered a modified version of the plan he had made last night, causing Remy to slowly betray a mischievous smile. Henry smiled back wickedly.

"I trust you were able to complete phase one of the plan, my friend?" he inquired, as Victor's mind raced, wondering just what the two were up to.

"Didya have to ask, Big Blue?" Gambit responded. He nimbly flipped a key ring out of one of his plethora of pockets. Victor gasped. Remy was holding the keys to Scott's corvette! Gambit noticed Victor's incredulity, so he explained: "What? He said he di'n't trust me. No harm done." He laughed, a near cackle, and Hank joined in heartily, prompting Victor to add to the chorus with his rumbling chuckle.

"This'll tie the boy scout's panties in knots," Victor noted astutely. The three exchanged evil grins and practically skipped to the garage.

As they backed the corvette out of the garage, a light fell across the lawn as the mansion's front door burst open and ejected Cyclops, flailing wildly.

"You blasted thief!" he cried, barely audible.

Hank and Remy waved pleasantly, and the irrepressible Remy couldn't resist adding: "Adieu, mon ami. I hope yo insurance is good."

Remy floored the gas pedal, and the corvette blasted out of the mansion's gates.

Gambit probably broke every traffic law in the book and then some, but the crimson corvette miraculously survived to pull up to a nightclub, brilliantly illuminated in every shade of neon any interior decorator could shake a color wheel at. An overwhelming din emanated from the club, sounds of rejoicing of all sorts bursting outward from the lively location. Victor shifted uncomfortably in the rear seat of the corvette. He had always enjoyed bars; he could be alone to think. However, a nightclub was a bit too energetic, and it overwhelmed his senses.

Remy parked the corvette deftly and hopped over the side, not even bothering to open his door. While Beast clambered out, Gambit opened Victor's door with a teasing bow.

"A night of great pleasures awaits you… mademoiselle," he invited.

Victor took a playful swing at Remy, his tension mollified somewhat. The trio walked in the door, immediately drawing some curious and awkward stares. Beast flashed his feline fangs, and most of the gawkers redirected their gazes. Remy wisely chose a booth, factoring that Hank and Victor would likely prove beyond the strength of the chairs. Henry slid down to the far end of one booth, and Victor took the spot across the table from him. Gambit sauntered over to the bar to order. Victor attempted to immerse his senses in his surroundings, metaphorically dipping his toes in the pool. Beast calmly folded his hands and waited.

Remy came back with a beer for Victor, a whiskey for himself, and a martini for Hank. Hank looked at his glass, then gave Gambit an almost petulant, but adorable, pout.

"I didn't forget, mon ami," Gambit soothed. He whipped a little cocktail umbrella, likely pinched from behind the counter, speared a swiped olive on it, and placed it in Beast's martini, drawing a contented purr.

Remy was an experienced drinker, and quickly downed his whiskey. He nimbly sprang up from the booth, having spied something that piqued his interest.

"Excusez moi, mes amis," he said, barely audible. "I spy poker tables." Gambit almost sprinted off with not another word. Hank and Victor exchanged amused glances as Remy streaked off to poker armageddon. By now, the martini and beer had been refilled once, and were drained again. Beast picked up his drink, grabbed Victor's supple arm, and dragged him towards an unoccupied pool table, while Victor gave an annoyed grumble and fumbled to snatch his beer.

Hank picked up his cue, span it skillfully, and broke the rack. The results produced an annoyed growl from Victor – Beast had sunk 5 balls. The complete domination continued as Hank put 4 more away in a row. Victor decided it was time to josh.

"Ya bloody cheater. You play with magnets and sulfur all day. You ain't allowed to be good at this."

Hank shot Victor an infuriating grin as he lined up his next shot. Victor moved towards Beast, scheming. Just as Hank was winding up for his shot, Victor gently hip-checked him, causing the cue ball to sail into the corner pocket.

"Guess it's my shot now, furball," he mocked.

Hank gracefully stepped aside, indicating with an exaggerated gesture that Victor should proceed.

"I suppose victory is victory," he conceded.

Victor was quick to retort. "Hey, I don't got a supercomputer in my head calculatin' angles and force and all that mumbo jumbo. I gotta play to my strengths."

Victor lined up his shot, but as he drew back to fire, Hank sneezed politely, causing Victor to miss completely.

"Oh dear. Excuse me. It seems I'm allergic to abysmal playing," Beast explained. Victor grinned wickedly and again attempted the shot, this time making contact with the cue ball, but being unable to sink any balls.

Hank gently nudged Victor out of the way and lined up another shot, this one sinking two more, and causing Victor to sigh despairingly, but the witty Victor was not going to take his spanking silently.

"So, you like sinkin' them balls deep, eh?" he joked. This drew an appreciative laugh from Beast, who thereafter sighed and set his cue on the edge of the table.

"Listen, Vic… I'm sorry things turned out as they did. I miscalculated. It seems many of my friends are not yet ready to accept you. Indeed, some still loathe you explicitly."

Victor smiled ruefully. "It ain't a big deal, Hank… I was stupid to be expectin' them to take me this quickly. Maybe they're right. I'll have to earn their trust. Don't worry about it. I knew, deep down, that some of them were gonna hate me." He paused, distraught as he inspected the now visible bottom of his empty glass. The pair headed to get their drinks refilled, then reclaimed their booth.

Victor's response had roused Hank's well-endowed sense of curiosity, and he pried.

"Are you sure you're alright? I'm going to work to get this resolved. As you saw, more of us are already behind you than those who oppose you."

Victor shook his head slowly. "Blue, I'm tellin' ya, I'm fine. I can handle a few of them hatin' me… it's not like I don't deserve it."

Beast was not about to have any of that. "Nonsense, my friend. You've clearly changed. They need to get that fact through their thick skulls."

Victor gently held Hank's arm in a grateful manner. "I'm glad you're on my side, Big Blue… and Storm, Gambit… Rogue… you all have been riskin' your necks for me." The giant let out a massive sigh, much like a hot air balloon bisected – releasing its air in a gentle rush. "The others threaten me, and truthfully, I'm afraid… but not of them. I'm afraid that they're right… that I'll lose control again… I'll turn back into a crazed killer."

The sea of blue fuzz paused, reflecting, before tentatively asking "What's it like? Losing control?"

Victor rumbled thoughtfully, grimacing at a deluge of painful memories. Hank had imbibed half of his fourth martini before his companion responded.

"It's terrible. It's… absolute power, but with no direction. All I see is red, and everyone and everything in my way becomes a target. I feel like I'm on fire… no, like I am fire, and nothing survives my wrath…" Victor's voice drifted off, and he did yet another thing that none had ever seen before. A single tear slid down his left cheek.

Hank was deeply moved, and being nothing but purely sweet himself, felt his eyes water a little in response. He extended a massive paw, gently holding Victor's arm. Victor looked up, startled. Incredulity washed over him like a swift tide. Could someone actually be comforting him? His azure friend answered his ponderings.

"Things are different now. We're here, and I'm going to make sure you never see red again," Beast soothed. "We're both plagued by the beast within, and we can both cage it, perhaps permanently."

Victor eyed Hank sadly. "It's easy for you… you're always in control, always kind, always wise… I can't hold a candle to that."

Beast chuckled, embarrassed. "I'm not always in control, my friend. I recall one time Wolverine decided to harangue me for an hour. I don't know what his underlying issues were, but he insulted my breeding, my intellect, my future children, every friend I ever had, the entire female species, and, of course, made the typical taunts about my appearance. Needless to say, I grew weary of his petulant ravings… I ended up throwing him through the wall."

This seemed to bring some cheer to Victor, who regarded Hank for a moment. _Good for you, Big Blue. I knew you had a badass monster in there._ Victor felt himself connecting to Hank, respecting him further. _If an even-tempered guy like Blue can lose it, maybe I'm not doing that bad after all._ Hank could see that Victor was still less than glowing with happiness, so he continued his interrogation.

"Surely you have not always struggled for control? There must have been a time, however distant, when you lead a relatively calm life," Beast fished.

"Yer right. It wasn't always hard ta keep my feral side in check...Before Weapon X I was able to handle it. I lived a normal life before then," Victor supplied helpfully.

There was a long pause, and then Hank leaned forward, intrigued and somewhat astonished that Victor was finally emerging from his shell, tearing down his own impenetrable walls. Even though inebriation may have been a factor, and he lacked the equipment his lab provided, Beast was glad to observe his patient, now friend, open up. Hank reached one of his immense paws towards Victor's hand and hesitated, then comfortingly held it. "…And you life before Weapon X… how did you live?" Hank finally asked, tenuously and gently. He must be cautious in his prying, or the walls would reform so fast that even his agile mind would not have time to react.

Victor started a little, reacting to the sudden but pleasant warmth of Hank's furry hand engulfing his. Victor typically confided in no one but himself, perhaps because he lacked anyone to confide in anyhow, but he still struggled to grasp the apparent fact that someone was willing to listen. Heaving a lengthy sigh and leaning back, Victor obliged. "It was… peaceful, in a way. I had a cabin up north, and an old truck. Worked in a factory a while, then as a lumberjack, and for a time I was a trucker. I'd hit bars whenever I could stop… would go to the quiet ones where no one cared who ya were or where ya came from; they'd leave ya alone. Nothing else mattered. Sometimes, I'd get drunk, or at least try to… When I felt lonely enough, I'd pick up whoever was willin'." He smirked unsubstantially, his protruding fangs showing a slight sheen. "I had some good nights in the back of my 18-wheeler… heh… sometimes I'd wake up ta someone I didn't even remember bringin' in… even a few guys…"

Hank said nothing, for he was too composed and reserved; he realized any overreaction would quickly silence the torrent of Victor's confessions. His eyes widened slightly, but otherwise, he displayed no initial reaction at all. _An unforeseen contingency. Fascinating. The mighty Sabretooth swings both ways._

Following the blond berserker's confession, a smothering silence asphyxiated the booth. Beast's paw was slowly withdrawn, and he coughed to attempt to dispel the awkwardness. Victor squirmed in his seat, sensing he had gone too far; both he and Hank appeared rather ruffled.

"Sorry, Blue… didn't mean ta say anything ta make ya uncomfortable."

Hank shook his head negatively. "I assure you that you have done nothing wrong… I am just mildly surprised, to say the least. After all the years of fighting against you and observing your nature, I was not expecting to discover you had ventured into homosexuality."

Victor was still abashed, but Beast's assurances had not been wasted. His countenance shifted slightly from pure shame to caution. Confessing anything was onerous, but he had been doing well. He felt his former hesitation returning, his confidence spring dried out. Tentatively, Victor offered an explanation.

"Back then… it didn't matter much ta me. Sex was sex; it didn't matter where it came from as long as it was satisfying and the person looked okay at the time. Half the time, I was too drunk to even notice who I was screwing… I just needed someone… I needed contact, ta feel someone…"

Regarding the almost penitent Victor, Hank stroked his chin as he thought. _Further proof to my axiom: the tougher they act, the more vulnerable and lost they are beneath the act. He needs companionship in the worst way, and it's my job to fill that gap._

Once again, silence wrapped its icy tendrils around the booth, and both men sat somewhat uncomfortably until Victor spoke up.

"Think I need a refill… will get ya one too…" He rose and stumbled over to the bar, returning a minute later with replenished beverages. The drinks had been drained again before Victor spoke again, his words slurred. "Ya know… I don't even know why anyone would be willing… why would they want to be with me? I'm ugly, Blue… I got the kinda face that people can't bear to look at twice…" He pounded a fist on the table out of pure agony. "I'm so hideous, and everyone who cares anyway, I drive away!" The glass in his other hand shattered as he channeled his pain through a death grip. When he looked up again, his eyes shone with tears of the most exquisite anguish.

Henry could not bear to see anyone suffer so. He rose from his booth opposite Victor and swung around, sliding next to Victor. He gently placed his comforting arm around Victor's shoulders, his brawny arm banishing Victor's troubles. The paradoxical paws softly wiped the tears away. Victor's senses were scrambled; he could not believe what had just happened. Someone had finally listened and understood, and was still there, holding on, drying his eyes, and comfortingly holding him. The tide of misery evaporated, as if Hank were a brilliant star burning too close. Warm waves of euphoria chased the tide of sadness away, and Victor felt weightless, blissful. Perhaps, at last, he had found acceptance. Perhaps, at last, he had found friendship.

Floating in pure ecstasy, Victor was to discover that Beast had not yet finished soothing the wounds of his soul, for the wise mass of blue fur had calming words to speak, as well.

"Ugly? Perhaps those saying such were thoroughly inebriated. You are by far the finest specimen to have ever graced my lab table, a paragon of physical perfection."

Victor's pulse increased exponentially, but the dopamine from his typhoon of bliss prevented him from noticing. As the joy continued to pulsate throughout his massive form, Victor turned his head to Hank, their faces mere inches apart.

"You ain't looking too bad yourself, Blue."

Beast felt heat rush to his face as embarrassment flooded his body. His own pulse quickened, and he had insufficient alcohol in his system for it to go unnoticed. Hank looked into Victor's eyes, noticing for the first time things his own eyes had been complimented on: purity, honesty, gentleness, and beauty. Navy pupils met amber; colors meant to go together. Victor had gone too far, but he was too lightheaded with happiness and drunk to notice, for his inappropriate compliments continued.

"There's gotta be a bathroom in here… I wouldn't mind taking a crack at ya."

Hank found himself completely robbed of words, perhaps for the first time in his life. As he struggled to formulate a gentle reply, a familiar sight rescued him. The rugged swamp rat strutted up to the booth just in time. Not the savior Beast was expecting, but Gambit proved adequate. The pockets of Remy's trench coat bulged with newfound robustness, and he wore a winning smile.

"Come on, you two lifeless boozers. I've had enough time to process tha' whiskey, and the other players were about to call for my head anyway," he declared smugly. At Gambit's insistence, the two stumbling giants shakily rose to their feet. Remy rummaged furiously in his pockets, mumbling, then flashed an appreciable stack of cash before the eyes of both his companions. "Your share of the evening's profits, gentlemen." Without further ado, he tucked the wads of cash into their back pockets as they crossed the club's threshold. Clambering into the corvette, the trio strapped in and headed home.

The return trip proved uneventful. Victor again sat in the back, his head bobbing slightly, still deliriously happy. Hank brooded in the passenger's seat, mulling over all he had learned and heard. Gambit chatted glibly about his exploits, describing each hand in painful detail. Beast was not listening to any degree, but interjected nods and grunts often enough that Remy did not notice.

The activity at the mansion had largely receded when the trio entered from the garage. Gambit carelessly tossed Cyclops' keys onto his designated table spot, then headed upstairs to brag to Rogue about his triumphs. He knew what was in the cards if he played his cards right, so to speak.

Victor stumbled, and leaned heavily on Hank, grinning foolishly. Hank heaved a sigh, and let Victor grip his arm as they walked to Victor's room. Beast quietly opened the door and gave Victor a gentle shove inside. Victor pulled an about-face in the doorway.

"…Thanks so much, Blue…" he enunciated carefully. Victor then broke another presumed taboo. He reached his massive arms out and grabbed Hank, pulling him into an embrace, channeling all of his newfound joy. Hank was not at all unaccustomed to hugs; several of the X-men considered him a teddy bear. However, Victor was to blast Hank with another surprise. As the hug's intensity increased, Victor's muscles bulging, Victor's lips started seeking as well. Before Beast could react, he was locked in a kiss with Victor. Hank's fur shot up in shock. Victor flexed his lips, greatly enjoying the moment and trying to transfer his joy to Hank in another way, but Hank quickly withdrew, completely befuddled. Beaming, Victor delicately shut his door, leaving Hank standing there, more lost than Victor ever had been.

Beast stumbled to his own room and collapsed on his plushy bed. Bewildered, he lay in the dark, furiously trying to convince himself that nothing had happened and, failing that, hoping that sleep would wash away all the confusion he was immersed, nay, drowning in. The digital clock stared at him through its scarlet block numbers, intentionally taunting him by slowing itself. It would take many hours of staring blankly at the ceiling and pondering before the cobalt colossus would finally find sleep.


End file.
